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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26835481">Taking a Rest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday'>Twice_before_Friday</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>October? No, I think you mean Whumptober [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abduction, Gen, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:08:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26835481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?<br/>On the Run | <span class="u">Failed Escape</span> | <span class="u">Rescue</span></p>
<p>He jiggles the metal a little harder but it slips in his hand, the jagged edge slicing deep into his palm, causing him to drop the fragment with a hiss. He clenches his hand into a tight fist but the blood bubbles up through his fingers and drips to the floor.</p>
<p>"Damn it," Malcolm grunts through clenched teeth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>October? No, I think you mean Whumptober [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947595</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Taking a Rest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Not for the first time, Malcolm is thankful for the flexibility his morning yoga routine provides. It allows him to slip his bound hands underneath his body, moving them from the small of his back to rest in front of his stomach, giving him access to the use of his hands.</p>
<p>He doesn't waste time trying to free himself from the cuffs — he knows it's futile without something with which to pick the lock — and focuses instead on the heavy door to the room he's locked in. He kicks hard at the door but has to stop when he nearly tips over on his fifth attempt, sorely missing the ability to use his arms for balance. It doesn't matter, though, because the door didn't even shake under his strikes.</p>
<p>He looks around the room, weighing his options. There's a small window set high in one of the concrete walls, but it has to be eight feet up and has metal bars set in the window-well to keep intruders out.</p>
<p><em>Or keep captives in</em>, his mind helpfully supplies.</p>
<p>Walking the perimeter of the small room, he finds random bits of debris littered on the ground; chunks of cinderblock and scraps of newspaper, twisted bits of metal and food wrappers, all scattered about the room.</p>
<p>His eyes land on a thin-ish piece of rusting metal, roughly six inches long by three across, and he looks back at the door, an idea forming in his head. Sure enough, the door to the room he's in swings inwards, meaning the door hinges are on his side of the room.</p>
<p>He grabs the metal in his cuffed hands and makes his way back to the door, focusing first on the middle of the three hinges. He slips the metal between the pin and the barrel of the hinge and starts to wiggle it up and down, working to free the pin from its cage.</p>
<p>It doesn't shift easily.</p>
<p>The door has probably been there for decades and the hardware is insistently stuck. Malcolm doesn't give up though, knowing that the killer could come back at any time, and he's certain to meet a grisly end when that happens.</p>
<p>He jiggles the metal a little harder but it slips in his hand, the jagged edge slicing deep into his palm, causing him to drop the fragment with a hiss. He clenches his hand into a tight fist but the blood bubbles up through his fingers and drips to the floor.</p>
<p>"Damn it," Malcolm grunts through clenched teeth. </p>
<p>It stings like a mother fucker.</p>
<p>He shakes the worst of the blood from his hand and fumbles his suit jacket open before tugging the bottom of his shirt free. It's awkward with his wrists cuffed the way they are, but he manages to tear a strip free and wrap it around his hand to stem the flow of blood. He uses his uninjured hand and his teeth to knot the fabric on the back of his hand, tugging it tight to keep pressure on the wound.</p>
<p>And then he picks up the piece of metal and starts all over.</p>
<p>It takes nearly ten minutes and a couple more minor cuts to his fingers, but he finally manages to pop the pin free.</p>
<p>"One down, two to go," Malcolm whispers to himself.</p>
<p>He kneels down on the ground to work the lower hinge next, having slightly more luck with that one than the first. He doesn't even cut his hands while freeing the pin. </p>
<p>The final hinge is a little more difficult. Having to reach up with his hands cuffed together makes it tough to work the metal and he ends up with a few more deep gashes on his fingers before he's able to free the final pin.</p>
<p>He tosses the metal and the pin to the ground and grabs hold of the doorknob, ready to pull the door away from the frame, ready to make his escape. He tugs hard, huffing out a surprised laugh when the door comes free. He can practically taste his freedom. </p>
<p>But before he even has a chance to put the door down, his captor bursts through the new opening, slamming into Malcolm hard enough that he falls painfully to the ground, the door falling heavy on top of him.</p>
<p>"Nice try, cop, but you're not gonna get away so easy," his captor says, tossing the door off of him with a grunt before stomping a booted foot onto Malcolm's stomach, hard enough to not only force the air from his lungs, but also cause stomach acid to flood his mouth.</p>
<p>He rolls onto his side and curls up into a tight ball, trying to breathe through the pain and protect his organs from the blows that continue to rain down. His captor seems to have no rhyme or reason for where he kicks, aside from ensuring he causes enough damage so that Malcolm doesn't try to run again.</p>
<p>And when the man slams the heel of his boot down on Malcolm's knee, effecting a sickening pop that echoes through the room, melding with Malcolm's agonized screams, he guarantees Malcolm won't be running anywhere for a very long time.</p>
<p>By the time the man stops, Malcolm can barely breathe. His ribs ache so deeply that Malcolm is sure that a few are fractured, if not broken, and he knows those are most assuredly not the only bones that have been shattered. More concerning, though, is the stabbing pain in his abdomen that seems to get worse with every minute that passes.</p>
<p>"Let's see you run now," his captor says, spitting on him before turning on his heel and walking through the open doorway.</p>
<p>Malcolm isn't sure if it's a matter of seconds or minutes (either way, it feels like hours), but soon he becomes aware the commotion of his team breaching the building, hears JT's voice call for the medics, feels Gil's warmth as he kneels down next to him and takes his hand in his, begging him to hold on.</p>
<p>He opens his right eye — his left is already swollen so badly that he can't open it at all— and looks up to find all three members of his team staring down at him, concern written in every tense muscle of their bodies. He wants to assure them that he's fine, but he doesn't have the energy to speak and he's not even sure he can convince himself of that at this point.</p>
<p>Thankfully the paramedics are just outside, waiting for the all clear, and they make it into the room just in time to deal with the blood he begins to cough up, flooding his mouth and dripping down onto the floor below. He lets himself let go when he sees them, knowing he's in capable hands.</p>
<p>Before he passes out, though, he gives Gil's hand a squeeze, letting him know he's not giving up. Just...taking a rest.</p>
<p>He thinks, just maybe, he's earned it.</p>
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